Said in Song
by Kaitlinbell
Summary: I wonder why you hide and listen...but never stay for long. MarcoDylan. One shot.


I _am_ writing Shards of Reality. I promise. :-)

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Dylan shuffled down the deserted hallway, stuffing what remained of his sandwhich into his mouth in a very unattractive manner. What did he care? There was no one to see. And he had a place to be right now.

He strided past the gym, hearing a few of the junior tennis players hitting a ball back and forth to pass the time during their lunch period, the sound reverberating out into the hallway in an eerie manner from the cavernous gymnasium. Everyone was in the lunchroom right now. He had been too.

But now he was heading to the choir room. A ritual he had started weeks ago and had faithfully kept.. At the end of the corrider the music room's door came into view, slightly ajar, a warm beam of light shining from beneath it.

Like there always was.

About twenty feet away, Dylan stopped and plopped down on the floor, feeling the cold seep into his body. He ran a hand through his hair before he reached down and untied his shoes, slipping them off and sitting them beside the lone and unused water fountain before he stealithly hopped back up. Sock clad feet brushing noiselessly against the dull tile floor he tiptoed towards the door.

With his back pressed against the wall and his face turned slightly to look into the room beyond...it started. Very softly at first, gaining in definition, a gentle melody floated out from the room to his waiting ears.

It had started ages ago. Easily three weeks. Dylan had been asked by one of his teachers to send a message during his lunch period. He had grudgingly went along with it and, after eating, had made his bored way to the uncharted music wing of the school. And on his way back to his friends, after the deliverance of his note....

....he had heard the music.

A melancholy tune had breezed his way from a slightly open door. It had been so sad....so beautiful. Dylan had stopped dead in his tracks and simply _listened. _Listened to the unearthly wordless song that cemented him to the spot. After twenty minutes of the strumming of a guitar and the sharp flick of pages of music being turned later the music had stopped and the trance had ended, allowing him a short moment to run and hide.

Dylan had ducked into the boy's restroom that lay directly to his left. The door had been one of the older ones, never replaced when the rest of the school was being remodeled, made with a small window in the bottom so noises and voices could filter out and alert teachers to any fights or plotting being made within. And he was grateful for this sneaky little peek hole.

He had dropped to the floor, feeling rather childish as he peered through the wire separating him from the hall outside. And he waited. Several agonizing seconds of baited breath later the door opened hesitantly, creaking open ever so slowly an inch at a time, until it finally revealed an impossibly cute head of dark hair and wide, curious eyes.

It wouldn't be until a few days later that he found out the boy's name was Marco. At that moment however, he had fallen for him...in a physical sense. The boy had moved with an almost unsettling grace, with his hesitant curl of fingers on the doorknob and delicate biting of his lip as he looked down the hall both ways before scuttling away, dragging a messenger bag behind him. It had been quite a day, he reflected. The day he had first laid eyes on this boy...this siren.

And here he was, the nineteenth time this month, standing like a looming spector outside of the door, in half shadow and half warm light, listening to this boy make music beyond that of meer mortals.

It wasn't as if this boy was particularly good at his art. If he was honest with himself the boy, quite frankly, sucked. He tripped over notes, and went to slow. Usually the snap of strings could be heard among the curse words or the plop of his music book on the floor would jerk him out of his stupor.

But Dylan loved him.

The boy played with a passion he'd never really heard before. It was creepy and sad and when the notes fluttered haphazardly in the air it made your heart stutter along with them. The way he cursed at his fumbling fingers was endearing, as were the jerky movements he made with his head to get his blasted hair out of his eyes. The instrument was always off key and he couldn't hold the thing correctly to save his life.

But the boy _played_. He really **_played_**.

He played in such a way that gods could never get right if they spent there whole immortal life trying. Because what silly being could ever imitate the sweet chords that floated out of that room? Could recreate the helpless frustration and faltered keys that made this boy so appealing?

Today was like all the others. The slight 'thump thump' of the desk he sat on when he absent-mindedly kicked it in tune with his beat. The scratch of a turned page. The first haunting strummed notes. Dylan could set a clock by the boy. It was always at exactly the same time, at exactly the same moment.

The instrument sometimes changed. Most of the time it was his beloved guitar. Others it was a bulky base guitar that he seemed to have the most talent with. Lesser than the other two it was the piano that sat old and decrepit in the corner of the room. And an even more laughable few times it was a goofy accordian.

But no matter what he was playing that particular day, he always played with _passion,_ with this sense of wide-eyed inquisitiveness and outright love for life that made his music so perfect.

Dylan often felt as if he was spying. No "observing" he corrected. He never spied. After all the boy played out in the open where anyone passing by could hear. He simply was the one priviliged person to ever catch him. He wasn't spying.

He wasn't!

In the middle of his internal debate something made his mind stop completely however. Very quietly, very unsurely, a voice began to_ sing_. The sound so alien and unforseen that it took Dylan several moments to even comprehend what he was hearing.

The voice was so soft, so uncertain, and Dylan closed his eyes at the sensory onslaught, trying to ingrain the sound of it in his mind forever. It was beautiful really. What the boy lacked in decent musical skills, he definitely made up for in voice. It was the most amazing sound he'd ever heard. And slowly the words drifted out around the door to dance in his ears.

_It's a face I've never seen._

_A heartbeat never heard._

_It's the smile in my head_

_that creates a loss of words._

Dylan leaned his head back against the wall and smiled, letting the words fall over him, encasing him in a cloud of peace. That _voice. _It was slowly growing stronger and more sure as time passed, and with this new sense of confidence the feelings that went along with them intensified and took his mind hostage. It was the most...oddly fulfilling thing he'd ever experienced.

_The candle here beside me_

_has grown dim in my wait._

_I play a song just for you_

_to explain my lovesick state._

With a tremendous start Dylan felt his back straighten against the wall behind him and his eyes went wide and fearful. Surely.....surely not. It was just a figure of speech. The song wasn't being played for anyone in particular. It was probably for some girl that he was going to serenade later tonight with oaths of undying love.

For some reason this prospect didn't seem to sit well with his stomach, feeling instantaneously sick at the thought of this boy singing his heart out for some girl who was unworthy of his amazing music. The music he didn't seem to have shared with anyone.

_Our conversations ease my mind_

_A cresendo of unsaid thoughts._

_An understanding silence_

_that I never knew I sought._

At this Dylan started shifting on the balls of his feet, trying to keep himself from bursting in and demanding what he was singing about. Silence? A face he'd never seen? Playing a song for someone? But surely..._surely _the boy didn't know he was here. That he had always been here.

And the words! What this boy was saying. Speaking of love and understanding....things he'd been trying to ignore in this situation. It wouldn't do to fall for someone he'd never heard speak before.

But, his treacherous mind pointed out, the boy _was _speaking. He was pouring everything he had into these words....was that not enough?

_And this is me with one last wish_

_without courage, said in song_

_I wonder why you hide and listen_

_but never stay for long._

With bug-eyes and short breathing Dylan grabbed at the flat surface of the wall, clinging to thin air. Surely! Surely not!

Dylan swallowed noisely and came to long enough to realize the entrancing music from behind the door had ceased and the silence was only broken by the noises of a boy packing up his things. A tiny, silent squeak left Dylan ducking quickly and tiptoeing to the bathroom he had come to hiding in. Too many questions. And too many left unanswered. Especially too many to be caught with.

_I wonder why you hide and listen_

_but never stay for long._

Ducking behind the boy's bathroom door he threw himself down onto the floor like he always did so he could watch the young musician make his graceful way down the hall.

As he'd pointed out, one could set a clock by the boy. Exactly two and half minutes later, the whisper of squeaky hinges was heard and the soft tap of of shoes filtered down to him through his tiny window. Creak number two as the door was closed. Rustle of cloth as the messenger bag was dragged over his head and onto his shoulder. Dylan even fancied he could hear the delicate slide of fingers as his hand left the door handle.

Scurried footsteps passed his door and Dylan watched the lovely creature go by, staring up in a fit of childish wonder that left a grin firmly in place after he was gone. He had seemed rather more occupied and lost in thought that he usually did. Dylan wondered what was going on his head. What made him stare blankly at the floor as he walked. He doubted he'd ever know...but he couldn't help but guess.

With the dark haired boy out of sight and the hesitant footsteps long gone, Dylan propped himself against the dirty restroom wall and jerked his head back against the tile. How odd, he thought, that the song made so much sense to him. The words said things that he had often pondered himself.

Why did he come day after day....only to run and hide afterwards? Why did he love this music so much and why did he get the feeling that if anyone else had played it, it would never be the same? What did he know of this boy? Nothing.

He knew absolutely nothing....except the boy could _play_. He could strum out such feelings in the form of flying notes that drowned you in joy or encased you in sorrow. He had _passion_. Something few artists ever could really get a grip on. And that made him exceptional.

A harsh shriek of a door opening and a biting draft caused Dylan to jump out of his skin and five feet in the air. He even wondered if his hair had turned white from shock. His equilibrium completely shot, he fell against the floor, elbows hitting the tile painfully.

The first thing his stunned mind made sense of was a pair of black sock clad feet....and then short, jean clad legs, chest, neck...and finally, a round, open face and bright brown eyes that stared at him in achievement, a crooked grin shining down.

"Hi...um, you left your shoes by the water fountain," the boy whispered shyly, gracefully extending his hand holding a pair of shoes. By the light dancing in his eyes it was apparent there was more to this meeting than one would think. Which was entirely right, Dylan knew.

"Erm, thanks."

And with that, the dark boy smiled the sweetest smile he'd ever seen towards him, the feelings hitting him in the middle of the chest strong enough to be lightning, before he turned on his heel and shuffled off.

_And this is me with one last wish_

_without courage, said in song_

_I wonder why you hide and listen_

_but never stay for long._

Dylan blinked and looked down at his shoes, seeing a small green object lying inside of one. Quirking an eyebrow he reached inside, clawing at the dark air until he could get it out. Under closer inspection the object appeared to be a guitar pic....a small image of a door drawn onto it in black sharpie. _Caught_. Sighing, Dylan began shoving his feet into his shoes, not even caring to tie them.

He did, after all, have a door to walk through.

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Review please! I wanted to write a music fic and this is it. Oh yeah, and no making fun of my lame attempt at poetry. I looked online for **three** days trying to find the perfect song but found absolutely nothing. So you're all subjected to my suckiness. :D


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